


Wayward Children

by Lynx357



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Buckle up, Cas @ the other angels:, Dead Sam, Domestic Dean, Fix It, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, I'm about to overhaul this bitch, I’m not listing them all, Leader Sam, Multi, Sad Dean, So many others - Freeform, THATS RIGHT FOLKS, alright people, bitch get some therapy, but he’s in heaven so it’s fine, can y’all chill?, dean @ random supernatural children:, fuck you cw, he adopts everyone, it’s going to be great, lisa @ dean:, lisa braeden is a saint, no they can’t, obviously, post season five, seriously, spoiler - Freeform, we’re going way back, you have to wait and see, y’all need a father figure?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:08:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27715232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynx357/pseuds/Lynx357
Summary: “Where are we?”“Heaven.” Death said, like it should have been obvious. Sam gaped at him.“What?” he finally managed. “How – how the hell did I get here?”“The same way everyone gets here, Sam,” Death told him patiently. “You died. As did Lucifer. I’m told that’s what happens when an angry archangel sticks his sword between your ribs and burns your body to ash.”
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 7
Kudos: 41





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! Welcome to my spite fuelled supernatural fix it extravaganza!  
> The basic premise: Michael stabs the fuck out of lucifer in the cage, he and Sam both die. Death takes Sam to heaven where he belongs, and Sam gets pulled into the civil war there along with all our favourite dead hunting pals.  
> Meanwhile Dean on earth gets dragged out of his moping by his friends and a host of supernaturally-screwed over kids in need of help.  
> Cas bounces between the two of them when he isn’t pulling his feathers out trying to keep heaven from restarting the apocalypse. It’s going to be fun!

It was the birdsong that first alerted Sam to the fact that something was very wrong. The birdsong, and the fact that he was lying on something that felt an awful lot like dirt and pine needles, the air around him still and warm.

None of it was right; he should have been trapped and in pain, still listening to Lucifer rage inside his skull, promising retribution for daring to defy him. The tranquility around him shouldn’t exist. 

“Congratulations,” the mild voice came from somewhere to his left, and his eyes flew open at the sound of it. He bolted upright, eyes landing on the man who stood a few meters away from him, bone-thin and pale and radiating a chilling sense of quiet. Whoever he was, he seemed unperturbed by Sam’s reaction, his face unmoving from it’s neutral expression, his hand resting easily on his cane. “You actually succeeded,” the man continued placidly. “I did wonder if you would.” 

Sam got to his feet, eyeing him warily. The sun shining through the trees caught on the man’s ring, glinting dully off the white stone set within, and understanding sank like a stone in Sam’s gut. 

“Death,” he breathed. The man inclined his head. 

“It’s good to know you catch on quickly. They did tell me you were the smart one, certain inadvisable choices aside.” He didn’t offer anything more, so Sam licked his lips nervously and dared to ask,

“Where are we?” 

“Heaven.” Death said, like it should have been obvious. Sam gaped at him.

“What?” he finally managed. “How – how the hell did I get here?” 

“The same way everyone gets here, Sam,” Death told him patiently. “You died. As did Lucifer. I’m told that’s what happens when an angry archangel sticks his sword between your ribs and burns your body to ash.”

Holy shit. How the hell was Sam supposed to respond to something like that? He’d been braced for an eternity trapped in the worst part of hell, had welcomed it, even, knowing that it was the only way to save the world. But now – what? He’d somehow managed to weasel out of it? He got to go to Heaven? It sounded way to good to be true.

Death raised a slender eyebrow at his disbelief.

“Honestly, what did you think would happen when you dragged Michael and Lucifer into that pit with you? That they would sit down and chat to each other for eternity? Gabriel and Lucifer might have, but Michael always did have a temper. He killed the two of you the second he got his feet under him in the Cage.” He brushed an invisible speck of dust off the shoulder of his jacket. 

“I thought my soul would be trapped even if I died.” Sam said. 

“Souls go where they belong,” Death responded curtly. “You made a very dramatic sacrifice for your family and the world and saved billions of lives. Your soul belonged in Heaven, and so I brought you here. I am Death, Sam. There is nowhere in the universe that is off limits to me.”

“…Oh.” Sam said finally. “Um, thank you?” Death looked profoundly unimpressed. Sam took the moment to look around properly, and suddenly realized that the stretch of road he’d found himself alongside was heart-wrenchingly familiar. Three hundred meters away, just around a bend in the road, was where the roadhouse should be.

“This is really Heaven,” he whispered, hope like he hadn’t felt in years springing to joyful life in his chest. 

Death hummed quietly. “Not your personal Heaven, I’m afraid. I believe Raphael destroyed it when he received the news of what you did. This one, I believe, began as your friend Ash’s, and has now become something of a communal midpoint for hunters who knew each other in life.”

“Can they do that?” Sam asked, surprised. 

“I expect that it’s discouraged. But, you’re human. When do any of you let something as insignificant as rules stop you?” Death sounded amused, which was only marginally less terrifying than when he sounded annoyed. He shifted and turned to walk away. “As much as I’ve enjoyed our little chat, I am a very busy person, Sam. I must be going.”

“Wait!” Sam blurted before he could stop himself, then shrank back at Death’s narrow eyed glare. “Uh, sorry, I – I just wondered… what about Adam?” 

“Your unfortunate younger brother is still alive, and therefore, for now, not my problem.” He straightened his coat with a sharp tug. “Goodbye, Sam Winchester. I wish you luck. For some reason, I think you’ll still need it.” And with that, Death vanished, like he’d never been there at all. 

Letting out the breath that he’d been holding since he’d decided to question the most powerful being he’d ever met, Sam laughed shakily to himself and started down the road towards whoever was waiting for him at the end. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Lisa had a very comfortable guest room. The walls were painted a neutral cream colour, the sheets smelled like flowers. The carpet was new and unused enough to allow your feet to sink into it as you walked, and the mattress didn’t have so much as one creaky spring. It was clean and cozy and Dean had never been further from sleeping in his life. 

He’d given up on lying down a few hours ago, back when it had still been dark. Watching the light seeping through the curtains go from grey to blueish to yellow had been a nice way to pass the time while he sat hunched over on the edge of the bed, eyes stinging with the effort it took to keep them open, his brain playing a never ending loop of Sam, falling and Sam, dying and Sam, screaming. 

The clock on the bedside table flicked from 5.59 to 6.00, and Dean decided that that was close enough to normal getting up time and stood. He’d changed into sleeping clothes, at least, a token attempt at normalcy while he invaded Lisa and Ben’s lives. The first of many, probably. 

It was quiet as he emerged into the hallway, no signs of life from the other bedrooms yet, so he crept downstairs to the kitchen on silent feet, closing the door round before starting up the coffee machine so that any noise it made would be muffled. The fridge didn’t have too much in it, but there were eggs, and bacon, and that was enough for Dean. He pulled them out while the coffee machine sputtered and gurgled in the corner and grabbed a frying pan to start on breakfast. 

“Dean?” He turned, offering a smile to Lisa, who stood sleep-tousled and groggy in the doorway, watching him with a bemused expression. “You’re making breakfast?” She sounded perplexed, but not unhappy. 

“Uh, yeah,” he said, glancing between her and the pan as he flipped the bacon. “I was up early, figured I could help out a bit, y’know.” Lisa was still looking at him with that soft look on her face, and he felt his shoulders go up, defensive. “It ain’t gourmet or anythin’ but, uh,”

“Dean?” Lisa interjected gently.

“Yeah?” He responded warily. 

“Thank you.” 

“Oh.” He blinked at her and licked his lips nervously. “Uh, you’re welcome?” 

Thankfully, Ben chose that moment to shuffle into the kitchen like a pint-sized zombie in soccer pajamas, and the food was ready to dish up, so Dean was saved from having to continue making awkward small talk with the woman whose life he’d butted into. 

A few hours later, once breakfast had been eaten and cleared away, and Ben had been bundled off to school, Lisa cornered Dean in the living room and requested that they ‘talk,’ which was one of the few words that could strike true fear into Dean Winchester’s heart. It must have shown on his face, because Lisa had the audacity to giggle at him. 

“For God’s sake, you’ve faced down demons and angels and who knows what else - are you seriously telling me that I’m scarier than the apocalypse? Me?” 

“Yeah, well, demons and angels you can stab,” Dean told her, eyeing the door longingly. Lisa looked unimpressed. 

“Dean,” she started, and oh, God, that was a serious face if he’d ever seen one. “You show up at my door, traumatized to Hell and back – literally – after losing the last bit of family that you had, telling me that you have been fighting a war for the last two years – which isn’t even counting the rest of your life – asking me for help. Well, guess what, bucko, this is me. Helping.” Her dark eyes bored into Deans, and he looked away. Her voice softened. “You can’t stay in my guest room forever. You’re thirty, Dean. You have a lot of life left to live, and your brother wanted you to live it.”

Dean closed his eyes. Jesus, he didn’t want to start crying again. He’d let himself have a good ol’ sobfest the night before so that this wouldn’t happen during the day while there were people around to see. 

“I’m not saying that it’ll be easy,” Lisa murmured, sitting down on the couch next to him. “But you said that you made a promise.”

“Apple pie life,” Dean said roughly, scrubbing at his stupid, watery eyes. 

“Yeah,” Lisa agreed. “Whatever the hell that means.” He laughed shakily, and she grinned back.

“Wife and kids, I think is what Sam had in mind.” He admitted. “I don’t know if that’s on the table, though.” 

Lisa sighed. 

“Well, what is on the table, then?” Dean shook his head. Nothing, was what. At the moment? With a gaping hole in his chest were his brother used to be, with a brain full of shit that would send most people howling to the nuthouse, with a soul so battered that it was a miracle there was anything left to it? There was jack squat on the table, and Sam had just been too stubborn to see it. 

A gentle hand touched his hair, and he jumped, but it was just Lisa, running slender fingers through the slightly greasy strands. He needed to shower, but the feeling was so nice, he couldn’t help butt lean into it, fresh tears streaking their way down his face even as he gasped and shuddered, trying to keep them back. 

“I can’t imagine what you’ve been through. I know you told me a lot of it, but the amount of pain you must be in? It’s… there’s no way for me to wrap my head around it. I bet that happiness seems… further away than the moon right now.” Dean didn’t respond beyond a shrug. She wasn’t wrong. 

“So, right now,” Lisa said, ducking her head to catch Dean’s eyes properly, “Why don’t you aim for, not unhappy?” He blinked at her, brain stuttering like a stalled engine as he tried to process her words. 

“What?” he got out, after a long pause. 

“Not unhappy.” She repeated. It sounded like nonsense, and the little smile she wore on one side of her mouth said that she knew it. “Not miserable. Not… drowning, the way you are now.” And… that was the thing, wasn’t it? Dean was drowning. Drowning in fear and sadness and anger so deep that even the idea of happiness seemed like the childhood dream of catching stars. Fundamentally impossible. 

“That’s…” he trailed off. 

“Stupid?” Lisa suggested. “Dumb?”

“Well, yeah,” Dean said automatically. Lisa shrugged at him.

“Maybe it is. But you told me that you promised to try.” Shit. It all came back to that stupid, unfair, unbreakable promise. The last promise he’d ever made. The last one he ever could make. The one that he would die trying to keep. He shook his head again, but it wasn’t a denial so much as a last-ditch protest, and he changed it into a nod halfway through and probably ended up looking like one of those bobble-head things that always gave him the creeps. 

“That’s what I thought.” Lisa cupped his chin in one hand and leaned forward to kiss his forehead. “So start small. Start with ‘not unhappy’. Anything more than that? You have time to figure out, Dean. I promise.” 

And she stood and walked out of the room, leaving Dean sat on her nice couch in front of her nice bay windows, feeling more lost than ever


	2. Chapter 2

The Roadhouse door had always had a very specific creak. The kind that started deep and pitched higher as the door swung open, before petering out at the end. Sam hadn't even noticed it most of the time, but hearing it once more after so long without it made him feel like he was coming home. And that didn't even begin to cover the nostalgic smell of beer and cigarettes and gunpowder that filled the air, the low murmur of voices from behind the bar, the way the cheap lights glowed warmly from their dusty fittings.

All of it was familiar, and all of it had been missed. But none of it more so than the two women puttering around the room, bickering good-naturedly with each other as they served drinks and fond insults to the crowd of patrons that had found their way here. Working alongside them was a broad-shouldered man with warm eyes and Jo's smile, who'd shaken Sam's hand firmly and introdced himself as Bill Harvelle. 

Sam sat on a barstool, half-drunk beer in front of him, watching Ellen and Jo tag team the rowdy locals celebrating the end of doomsday. Dozens of familiar faces had swung by to clap Sam on the shoulder, to ruffle his hair, to grin at him and welcome him back. Ellen had kissed both his cheeks and Jo had lept into his arms and clung like a koala, yelling, 

"Sam Winchester, you son of a bitch, you _did it_!" until her mother barked at her to 

"Leave that poor boy alone and come help me out back here Joanna Beth, before I stick you with dish duty." while Bill laughed at the two of them, eyes shining. 

But all of that paled in comparison to the woman sat at his side, hand in his, blue blue eyes filled with tears. Mary Winchester was radiant here, dressed in a flowy top and jeans, hair long and impractically loose, beaming at Sam like he was a miracle, like he might disappear at any moment. There was no plaid camoflage, no concessions to the hunter aesthetic. She was defiant in her softness, and Sam loved her all the more for it.

Sam knew he was staring at her, but she was staring right back, so he couldn't bring himself to mind all that much. This was his _mother,_ sitting right next to him, smiling wide enough to hurt, whispering,

"Sammy, my Sammy," while tears dripped steadily down her face. "I'm so sorry, Sammy," she said to him, over and over, clutching his hand. "So sorry."

"Mom, no," Sam said, "Don't do that. They had all of us on strings, all of us doing exactly what they wanted us to. It wasn't your fault."

Mary started crying harder.

"Oh, Sam," she whispered, face pained. "I'm your mother. I was meant to protect you. There shouldn't have been anything in the world that could get through me to you. Nothing." 

A solid glass tumbler thunked down in the bartop, making both of them jump. Ellen brandished a towel at Mary, face stern. 

"Now don't you start up that nonsense, Mary Winchester. Sam's right. You were up against Heaven and Hell and destiny and all that crap, and you can bet that if they hadn't gotten through you one way, then they would have found another. Most likely one far worse than what you got. So you accept that you did your best, and that your son grew up into one of the finest men on the planet despite everythin' that those bastards put him through, and move the hell on." She pulled out a bottle of whiskey and poured a healthy serving into the glass before pushing it at Mary. "Or you'll drive yourself mad." Ash poked his head out from the back room and hollered at her, so she patted Sam's hand and went to deal with him. 

Mary pushed her hair behind her ears, laughing shakily. 

"She's right." Sam said, smiling ruefully. "I'd listen to her. She tends to get violent when people don't take her advice." Bill, unsubtly listening in as he cleaned pint glasses, let out a guffaw.

"Mmm." Mary huffed quietly. "Hunting women normally do. There aren't many of us, so we have to get loud to be heard." Her mouth twisted over the word 'us' like it tasted sour on her tongue.

"Yeah, Dean gave Jo a bit of trouble when she first started out." Sam took a sip of beer, reminiscing fondly. "I think it was his big-brother complex coming out more than anything else, but she still set him straight." 

"Yeah, I bet." Mary grinned at him, but it faded quickly into something sadder, more wistful. 

"Hey, uh..." Sam paused, glancing around the room. In the corner, Victor Henriksen raised his glass at him. Caleb and Pastor Jim offered him proud smiles, and Pamela gave him a blatant once over, complete with a salacious wink. He looked back at his mother. "Where's Dad? Is he here?" Her smile vanished completely and she pulled away, looking down into her glass of whiskey, fingers curled loosely around the rim. 

"Oh, he's here. Don't ask me where specifically, because I don't know. Wherever he is, it's gonna be far away from me."

Sam stared at her in shock.

"You're mad at him?" 

She gave him a look that couldn't have conveyed 'ya think?' more clearly than if she'd had a sign over her head. Which, thinking about it, made an awful lot of sense, Sam realised. Mary had made it implicitly clear that she wanted nothing to do with the hunting world. She wanted safety and comfort and a family that didn't keep guns next to the crockery. She had given up everything for it, and her husband had thrown it all away for the sake of revenge. 

"I'm sorry," he murmured. Mary glanced at him, then away. "You know, he, uh, he tried his best -"

"Don't." Mary cut him off, voice sharp, eyes bright with anger. "Don't you defend him. Don't you do that, Sammy. I've heard his excuses a hundred times, and they are not good enough. Not by a long shot, and you know it. So just..." She breathed in, slow and shaky, drained her glass. Sam swallowed, shifting guiltily in his seat. 

So that was what it was like to have your be mother angry at you. It felt startlingly similar to when Dean was angry at him, which wasn't a feeling he wanted to examine too closely. He didn't like it.

A few feet away, Jo had been wiping up a spillage on one of the tables, and gave Sam a sympathetic hip-check as she walked past.

"So..." Sam groped desperately for a subject change. "Whats the deal with the whole communal heaven thing? The last time i was here it seemed like everyone got their own little 3D cinema of their greatest hits, but this -" He gestured around appreciatively. "- This is different. Awesome, but... not really Angel approved."

Mary eyed him in a way that said she knew exactly what he was doing, but she didn't comment on it.

"Yes, well. Ash is the one that started it."

"Did someone say my name?" Called Ash from behind the bar.

"Yeah, Sam was just asking how we managed to swing the multiple-heaven thing," Mary told him. He lit up, sliding neatly out from behind the bar, beer in hand, to perch on Sam's other side.

"Oh yeah," he said enthusiastically. "Totally off-regulation, right? The big bosses had this whole, keep-em-seperate policy, don't ask me why 'cause I'm not sure, _but,_ there are work arounds, as you and Dean found out, last time I saw you," He paused to take a long draught of beer, then thumped the bottle down so he could gesture properly with his hands.

"It was right after that that I started reaching out, y'know, to other hunters that had kicked it, people that I knew, some that you knew, some family members that had a clue about the buisness."

"Yeah, thanks for inviting my dad in for an I-told-you-so lecture," Mary cut in, swatting Ash over the head good-naturedly. Ash pulled a face at her but kept going.

"I'm pretty sure we only got away with it because all the angels were so busy getting ready for doomsday. Bigger problems, you know?"

"Wait," Sam said, frowning, "But thats all over now. And Lucifer is dead, so its not like they can restart it. Whats stopping them from breaking in here?"

"Well, that would be Cas," Ellen leaned her elbows on the bar, proud smile pulling at her mouth. "Came right in the other mornin' like a man on a mission, handing out warding sigils, telling us that he'd try and keep the others of our backs."

"Cas is okay?" Sam exclaimed, relief pulsing through him. Ellen looked surprised.

"Yeah, why wouldn't he be?"

"Lucifer like, exploded him." Sam made a 'boom' motion with his hands to demonstrate. "And he'd lost his angel mojo before that. Like, all of it, he couldn't even fly any more." 

"He looked just fine to me," Ash said cheerfully. "And he showed up on the angel radar I still have going, all high-pitched and shiny." 

"He did look worried though," Ellen admitted, brow furrowing. "Stressed, like he had a lot going on."

"Well, Heaven did just lose its head honcho," Mary pointed out. "It wouldn't surprise me if there is one hell of a power struggle going on now, without him." They all contemplated that for a few moments. 

"Shit." Sam concluded, dread sinking icy claws into his gut. Mary and Ellen both nodded in agreement, eyes serious. "That is definitely not a good thing."

"No rest for the wicked, huh?" Ash asked, with a cheeky smile that died before it could reach his eyes. Sam had a sinking feeling that Ash's words were about to become a contender for 'understatement of the century.' Death's quip about him still needing luck was beginning to make a whole lot more sense.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Hey, Cas." Dean began, leaning over the kitchen sink. In the living room a new program was starting, somthing with a catch theme song that he didn't know. "I, uh, know you're probably busy but... I just wanted to reach out. Check in, you know." Jesus Christ, he sounded dumb. 

"Lisa, she's been really great. Doesn't take any of my crap." She really didn't. The second night Dean had stayed in the house, he'd snuck out to the garage to take advantage of his stash of whiskey in the Impala. He'd made it about three sips in when Lisa had appeared in the doorway like an avenging angel, (and trust him, he'd had experience) and yanked the bottle away from him. 

"You will not become an alcoholic under my roof, Dean Winchester," She'd snapped at him, truly angry for the first time. "My son lives here. I don't care how other hunters do it, you will not deal with your crap like this. It doesn't work, and it hurts the people around you." Shame had clawed its way up Dean's throat, because, God, she was right, and what kind of a peice of shit person did that? He'd been there for two days, and there he was, throwing all of Lisa's goodwill back in her face. 

So he'd gone through the trunk and the glovebox and his jackets, pulling out the bottles and flasks that he'd stashed there over the previous months and handed them over without protest. Lisa had taken them away, and brought the flasks back empty and squeezed his shoulder with a sad smile that he didn't deserve. 

That night, he'd had nightmares about his dad coming home the way he used to, drunk and miserable, snapping at Dean while Sam hid away, pretending to be alseep. John's voice had gotten louder and louder, his taunts crueler and crueler, until his face turned into adult Sam, furious and betrayed, and Dean had jerked awake, gasping. That had been almost a week ago, now.

"She, uh, got me this book," Dean scratched at his eyebrow, feeling small and dumb. "'Losing Loved Ones: The Five Stages Of Grief And How To Cope, or some shit like that. Said it helped her through her dad's death. And, you know, I figured it couldn't hurt, right?" He tried for a laugh, but it got mangled somewhere in his throat and came out closer to a sob.

"It said that, uh - reaching out was important. To friends and - and family. Something about support networks. So I - I called Bobby. And now I'm calling you. Which - I know you're busy, dude, I'm not expecting you to drop in just to listen to my crap, but, uh... You're kinda my best friend, these days. And, y'know, I... miss you." The admission was hard to make; not because it wasn't true, but because Dean had never been very good at saying genuine crap. Especially to angels who he'd epically screwed over and probably never wanted to see him again. 

"Hey, uh," He stopped. Forged onwards. "If - if there's anything I can do for you? Just say the word, man, I'll be there, okay? Just because I'm out of the game doesn't mean I can't play. Even... even if you just need someone to talk to. I mean, turnabout's fair play, huh?" He slumped, rolled his eyes at himself. "Okay. Offer's there. If you need it. Take care of yourself, Cas." 

He pushed away from the sink, moving to get a drink from the fridge. Orange juice or soda or something. Lisa had gotten him some beer when she went shopping, but he was trying to be good. 

The back of Dean's neck prickled, and he turned quickly, but it was just Ben stood in the doorway, face interested. They stared at each other for a moment. 

"Are you really friends with an angel?" Ben asked curiously. Dean blinked at him, nonplussed by the question. 

"Yeah?" He finally said, wondering what the hell he was supposed to say if the kid asked for details. Ben looked mildly impressed. 

"Cool," he said. "Can we have pizza for dinner?" And that, apparently, was it. 

"Sure thing, kid." Dean said, relieved. "Your mom's having a nice night out, so we should at least get something good out of it, huh?" He dug around in the cutlery drawer, where Lisa kept the takeout menus. "What topping do you want?" 

Lisa had announced that she and some of her friends from yoga had planned a girls night out at around lunchtime, and had let Dean know that he'd agreed to babysit. 

"Since you're here anyway," she'd said breezily, while Dean tried to convey how very not-qualified for childcare he was at her through expression alone. All she'd done was smirk at him, sadistically amused by his distress. 

At six o'clock she'd appeared from upstairs in a cloud of perfume, all dolled up in a nice black dress that made her legs look endless, and it was a sign of just how far gone Dean was that he hadn't even thought about trying to flirt with her. All he'd ended up saying was, 

"You look beautiful," with a terrifying amount of sincerity, and she'd given him a peck on the cheek, hugged Ben, and sailed out of the door with a cheerful

"Bye boys!" 

Thankfully, Ben had gone off to vegetate on the couch in front of whatever show was big with kids these days, leaving Dean to worry about dinner and make a fool of himself talking to thin air. 

He ended up ordering more pizza than they'd actually be able to eat in one sitting, because he figured variety was good, and anything they didn't get through would make a decent lunch tomorrow. Ben wasn't the most verbose kid, so he didn't seem too bothered that Dean didn't make much dinner conversation, beyond checking that the food was okay and asking Ben to rinse his plate when he finished. (Dean had made the mistake of not rinsing his plate before putting it in the dishwasher exactly one time. In his defense, it wasn't like he'd had the chance to use dishwashers very often in his life, which may have been all that saved him.)

When Ben had put away an impressive amount of pizza for someone barely scraping five foot, cleared his throat and asked,

"Will you teach me about cars? I think they're cool, but Mom doesn't know very much about them."

Dean froze, glass poised halfway between the table and his mouth. Christ, this kid. It was ridiculous to be so fond of someone you'd spent less that two weeks with, total, wasn't it?

"Yeah, kid," he said when the pause began to drag on a little too long. "Tomorrow afternoon okay? I can show you the basics when I gived the Impala a tune up." 

Ben flashed a brilliant grin at him, and for all Dean had once seen himself in the kid, at that moment, all he could see was Sam, chubby-cheeked and innocent and hero-worshipping his big brother. 

"Thanks!" He chirped, and darted off upstairs. Were all kids that hyper? God, Dean was getting old. He laughed at himself and went to stack the dishes in the dishwasher. Outside, the sun was setting, and the light through the windows painted orange-gold stripes down the kitchen walls.

He wondered if Lisa was having fun, out doing whatever it was that women did when they got together. Get drunk and talk about boys, maybe? Though maybe that was more middle-school than single-mom. When was the last time Dean went out with friends just for fun? Never, most likely. Friends were few and far between, and the ones he kept were hunters too, on the road just as much as he was, always busy. 

Lisa's book had said something about that. 'Healthy coping mechanisms,' or whatever. A hobby or something that you could do to make yourself feel better, or express your emotions or some kind of shrink crap. It made sense, in a way, but Dean's 'hobbies' were all either violent or self-destructive in some way, and the odds of him changing that seemed pretty slim. 

Except cars, he supposed. He like fixing cars, getting his hands dirty and making something broken whole again. Maybe he could do that. Call Bobby and ask him for weekend work fixing up some of his old junkers. Take Ben along, if Lisa didn't mind. Show him the ropes. Give him an actual skill. It was a nice thought, and Dean clung to it. 

_Ding._ The doorbell rang, and Dean jumped, then frowned. Lisa hadn't said she was expecting anybody, and she'd always, always let him know about stuff like that before. Sometimes it felt a little like being treated with kid gloves, but Dean was a paranoid bastard and he knew it, so mostly he just felt grateful. 

He couldn't help but tense as he approached the door though. _Don't be dumb,_ he told himself. _It's probably just a delivery guy._ Plastering on a neutral expression that he hoped conveyed'normal guy,' he opened the door and instantly lost it, mouth falling open in shock.

"...Hi." Said Jesse Turner, tiny and freckle-faced and weary beyond his years. "Can I come in?"


	3. Chapter 3

Preteen antichrists appearently had pretty similar appetites to preteen humans, Dean learned, watching as Jesse demolished the leftover pizza. It almost felt like deja vu, sitting back at the kitchen table with a hungry kid - or, it would have, if Jesse hadn't been so obviously different from Ben. 

Ben moved around the house like he belonged, like he couldn't imagine there being any danger there. He ate like he had all the time in the world, like he'd never been truly hungry, because he hadn't.

Jesse sat on the edge of his seat, tense as a wire, eyes flickering constantly between his plate, Dean and the door, so regularly that Dean bet he could have set a clock by it. He ate methodically - not rushing, trying to to seem rude, but quickly all the same, without wasting so much as a few crumbs. It pained Dean to see it in a kid as young as he was, but he knew better than to comment. 

Ben had appeared in the doorway just as Dean was serving Jesse his dinner, curious as hell and hiding it badly. Dean had pulled him into the hallway and reassured him that everything was fine, that he knew Jesse and would explain everything later, but could he please give them a little privacy? He hadn't been happy about it, that much was clear, but he hadn't protested and had offered to call Lisa and let her know. 

"Nah, kid," Dean had said quietly, glancing over his shoulder at where Jesse was doing a good job of pretending not to eavesdrop. "She'll be home soon enough, I'll tell her then, okay?" Thankfully, Ben had accepted this with a small shrug, and vanished up to his room. 

"I don't want to bother anyone," Jesse had said when he reentered the kitchen. 

"No, kid," Dean had protested. "You're just fine, alright? I'm glad to see you." 

Jesse had eyed him skeptically at that, which Dean found mildly offensive since for once he'd been telling the truth. 

"Seriously," He said, looking Jesse in the eyes. "I've been worrying about you ever since you took off."

If anything, Jesse had looked even more wary. 

"I haven't hurt anyone," He'd started defensively.

"No - thats - no." Dean interrupted. "Not worried about _what_ you were doing - I've been worrying about _how_ you were doing."

"Why?" Jesse screwed up his face, like Dean had announced that he thought tuna jello was a good idea. "I'm fine. It's not like anything can hurt me." 

_Fucking Christ,_ Dean thought. _I am so not qualified for this._

"Why, because you're a kid." He held up a hand against the stubborn set to Jesse's jaw that definitely preceeded some sort of offended outbust. "A very mature, powerful, _capable_ kid, definitely, but still just a kid." Jesse settled back down, slightly less mutinous. "There's also the fact that I promised to help you. To try, at least. And even though leaving was your choice, I guess I still felt like I'd failed you." 

Another name on the long list of people who Dean had broken his promises to. At least this one was still breathing, which he chose to demonstrate just then with a loud snort. 

"That's dumb," He told Dean, finally going back to his pizza slices. Dean huffed a laugh. 

"Yeah, maybe." He ran a hand through his hair. "I have been told that I have a saviour complex." Time to change the subject. "What brings you here, anyway?" 

"Everything went quiet about a week ago," Jesse said, impressively clear through his set of chipmunk cheeks. "All the demons just - disappeared." 

"You've been around demons?" Dean asked urgently. Jesse rolled his eyes. 

"No. Not really. I mean, there used to be loads of them everywhere - getting ready for the end, you know? But I never spoke to any of 'em, and none of them ever figured out who I am. But I could hear them. Kinda in the back of my head, if they were angry or excited. I tuned it out most of the time - it was annoying." He looked annoyed, too, like hearing demon voices was down there with staticky radios on the list of general irritations that people have to deal with. 

"But then, last week-" He shrugged, swallowed his mouthful. "They vanished. I waited to see if they'd come back but they didn't, so..." 

"So you came to see if I knew why," Dean finished for him.

He nodded solemnly.

"Yeah, good call. Uh, Lucifer? He's gone. His older brother, Michael, too. Sam, uh, you remember Sam?"

"Yeah. Your brother."

Dean tipped his head in confirmation.

"Well, he - he dragged both of them to hell. They ain't ever coming back."

Jesse inhaled softly. 

"Sam too?" 

"Yeah," Dean said. "Sam too. He sacrificed himself to do it, which..." He chuffed, without humor. "Is how I ended up here."

Jesse frowned at him.

"Lisa and Ben, they're friends of mine. Non hunting ones, that is. I've kinda taken over their guest room while I get my head back on straight." 

"Wow," Jesse said, looking wistful. "Wish I had friends like that." 

This kid really needed to stop casually breaking Dean's heart like that. It wasn't like he had much of it left as it was. 

"You need somewhere to crash for a few days?" Dean asked, before he could stop himself. 

"No, I'm fine." Jesse said quickly, but he cast a slightly longing look around the clearly lived-in kitchen. 

"Yeah, you can probably make your own five-star hotel whenever you want," Dean grinned at him. "But sometimes you just want to be somewhere that has home-cooked meals every once in a while. I make a mean breakfast." He pushed his chair back and grabbed Jesse's plate, forcing himself to seem nonchalant so as not to spook the kid. 

Inexplicably, the idea of Jesse taking off again made a solid cold lump settle just under Dean's ribcage. Maybe he was latching onto a new cause or whatever, falling prey to his hero complex, but he really, really wanted to see the kid sleeping properly, eating something decent, smiling without it seeming forced. Wanted to do something nice for someone for a change. 

"You'd make breakfast." Jesse said flatly. Dean turned from rinsing and pointed at him, feeling closer to playful than he had in weeks.

"Hell yeah, I do every morning. Eggs, bacon, the works. I'm a regular Gordon Ramsey."

"You aren't fancy enough to be Gordon Ramsey." But he was smiling. "What about Lisa?"

"You kiddin' me?" Dean snorted. "She won't care. It's not like you're an axe murderer."

"I could be," Jesse said innocently. "You don't know my life." 

Dean flicked some water at him, and he ducked, grinning. It actually looked genuine. 

"So?" Dean asked, drying his hands. "You staying the night?" 

Jesse hesitated, but eveidently the lure of Dean's gourmet cooking was too great to resist.

"Sure," he said, shrugging helplessly. 

"Great," Dean said cheerfully. "I'll go change the sheets in the guest room. I'll take the couch." 

And he booked it out of there before Jesse could protest. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Castiel now had an office. It was large and bland and would have been incredibly empty if he hadn't strong-armed Rachel and Hannah into sharing it with him. They had both protested, unused to having a superior willing to lower themselves to their level, but Cas had steamrollered their arguments out of sheer desperation. 

Sharing close quaters with the Winchesters had made the very idea of solitude a terrifying one. It was ridiculous - Castiel had lived for uncounted millenia without friendship, and yet a few short months with humans and his very makeup had been changed - though he believed it was for the better. 

Hannah and Rachel were not replacement for the human friends he had left behind - they were far too dissimilar for that - but they were pleasant aquaintances who shared history with him and didn't make confusing pop culture references in casual conversation, and that seemed like a decent enough foundation to start with. They were also warriors, stalwart and loyal and good under pressure, and he most likely would have gone mad without their support.

At that moment in time, what Castiel ought to have been doing was organising his reports. Instead, he found himself contemplating Dean Winchester's prayer. It had been pained and heartfelt, and Cas had felt both joy and sorrow, listening to it. It seemed that he too felt lonely and uncertain in this post-apocalypse world, and Cas fully intended to take him up on his offer of conversation, as soon as he could logically excuse his absence from heaven.

"Castiel!" The door flew open, making all three occupants of the room jump. "Sorry, Sir, Ma'am, Ma'am," Gasped Samandriel. Castiel felt fondness well up inside him.

"It's fine, Samandriel. What is it?"

Samandriel wasn't young - no angels were 'young' anymore - but he had been one of the last angels ever created, and he had spent almost his entire life in heaven. This combined with his exuberance and chirpy nature served to cement his position of 'baby of the family,' muuch to his continued protests. Almost all of the angels working for Castiel found him endearing, and many of them went out of their way to protect him. 

"I just went to visit the Roadhouse heaven, on your orders, Sir, and I noticed that everyone there seemed very excited, so I went in for a closer look, and Sam Winchester is there!" 

All three angels straightened, exchanging shocked looks. 

"Samandriel," Hannah said sharply. "Are you sure?" 

Samandriel nodded furiously. 

"I checked his soul, Ma'am. It's definitely him. I went to the Reaper headquaters, too. They all said that Death himself brought him here!" He seemed awed by the fact.

Cas sat back in his chair, mind spinning. Sam Winchester's fate had been a source of great sadness for Castiel. The man had been a true friend to him, offering advice and reassurance, a sympathetic ear when the weight of the world threatened to come down and crush them all. That he might be able to see him once more - convey his freedom from Lucifer's control to Dean, to lessen some of his suffering on Earth - it was the first truly good news that Cas had recieved since returning to heaven. He stood. 

"Rachel, Hannah, my apologies." He started gravely. "But I must go and see Sam Winchester. He may have news that could aid us."

"And he is your friend." Rachel said knowingly. "We understand, Castiel."

Cas smiled at her gratefully.

"I leave the office in your capable hands." He nodded at both of them, but they waved him off. "Come with me, Samandriel. It's time I began making introductions between our ranks and those of the hunters."

Samandriel perked up like a puppy shown it's leash, and together they took wing.

The first sound that reached their ears as they landed was the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked. They both turned and met the sharp eyes of Victor Henriksen, sat at one of the outside tables, enjoying the sunshine. He relaxed as soon as he saw Castiel.

"Heya, Cas," He said easily, thumbing the saftey back on. "It's been a while."

"Yes," Cas agreed solemnly. "I've been... busy, of late."

"Yeah, I bet," Victor agreed. "You hear about our boy making it upstairs?"

"Yes." Castiel said, while Samandriel nodded vigorously beside him. "I came to see him."

"He'll be real glad," Victor told them seriously. "He was worried about you when he got in. Said Lucifer did you a serious injury."

"I recovered," Cas said absently as he looked over the Roadhouse. The exterior glowed with the warding sigils he'd given to Ellen Harvelle. He was glad to see them in use. "Would you mind letting them know we're here? We can't enter the premises without permission."

"Sure thing, Dracula." Victor took a last swig of his beer and stood. "Be right back." 

"Dracula?" Samandriel questioned softly.

"Likely a figure in human pop culture," Cas murmured back. Samandriel looked fascinated.

At that moment, the Roadhouse door flew open and Sam Winchester came barreling out, face split open with a milllion-watt smile. 

"Cas!" He shouted, and jumped forward to pull Cas into a brief hug while he froze in shock. "Shit," Sam said, releasing him. "Sorry man, it's just - it's good to see you." His eyes flickered curiously over to Samandriel. 

"It's - fine," Cas said, still slightly taken aback. "I am - glad to see you too." He patted Sam's shoulder, aiming for friendly and landing somewhere around awkward. Luckily, Sam didn't seem to care, still grinning widely. 

"Who's this?" He asked, offering a hand to Samandriel.

"Samandriel," Cas and Samandriel chorused.

"It's an honor," Samandriel said breathlessly, seizing Sam's hand and pumping it up and down. "The entire force of heaven heard what you did to protect the Earth."

"Samandriel is one of my most trusted lietenants. He watches over this heaven when I am unable to." Cas informed them dismally, watching Samandriel fawn over an amused looking Sam, who seemed flattered by the attention.

"Nice to meet you," He said sincerely. Samandriel beamed.

"Hey! You boys gonna stand out there all day?" Called Ellen from somewhere inside. "Cas, you and your friend are welcome, or whatever."

"Thank you, Ellen," He responded gravely as he stepped inside. She huffed at him from the corner, wry smile curling across her face. The Roadhouse was the emptiest he'd ever seen it, even Ash and Jo absent from the room. 

"Sure thing." She settled herself down at a table. "You picked a good time to come by, I just kicked out the last of the riff raff." 

"Riff raff?" Samandriel said interestedly. 

"Non-family hunters. Everyone who wasn't in the inner circle, or whatever we're calling it these days." She sounded begrudgingly entertained by the whole thing. "Only Harvelles and Winchesters allowed in at the moment, a few exceptions aside." She winked at Victor, who rolled his eyes. 

"You only want me around because I'm sensible," He teased. 

"Well, yeah," Ellen agreed. "Have you seen the decisions these morons make when you leave them to their own devices?" 

"Hey!' Sam protested, laughing. 

"She's not wrong," Cas said. "I found myself constantly frustrated with your recklessness while on Earth."

"Hey!" Sam said again, genuinely offended this time. "Whose side are you on? And," He jabbed an accusatory finger at Cas, "Who was it that carved an _angel repelling rune_ onto his own chest?" 

"So you're both idiots," Victor summarised. Samandriel let out a nervous giggle. Castiel sent him a quelling look.

"Apparently," Sam sighed.

"Come on Cas," Ellen kicked out a chair. "Siddown. Tell us how things are going."

Cas sighed and lowered himself into the seat, Sam perching next to him and Victor propping himself against the bar behind Ellen. 

"As well as can be expected, given the circumstances." He looked up and found everyone watching him attentively. "Raphael sees himself as the logical choice for ruler of heaven, now that Michael is gone. He is the last remaining archangel, so traditionally speaking, he is correct. But many of our siblings," He gestured between himself and Samandriel, hovering behind him, "disagree. They're angry."

"The archangels lied to us," Samandriel cut in. He shrank back a little as the focus shifted to him, then visibly steeled himself and forged on. "None of us were told that they wanted the apocalypse. They threw us onto the front lines of a fight that they never wanted to win. They treated us like cannon fodder, when they weren't killing us themselves to keep us from questioning orders. We trusted them, and they betrayed us. We won't follow them any more." His voice weakened as he finished his speech, but Cas gave him an approving nod, and he flushed proudly.

"Good for you, kid." Ellen said warmly. He wilted a little at the nickname, and Cas felt a soft prickle of amusement at his disgruntled expression.

"So you're going up against Raphael," Sam said worriedly. "The same guy who smote the crap out of you the night Lucifer got free?"

Cas nodded. 

"But he cannot currently move against me. He has the power currently - almost all of upper managment are backing him. But we -" he waved one hand at the room at large "- have numbers on our side. A full scale conflict would decimate both sides, and Raphael needs the full might of heaven."

"So it's like a presidential campaign," Victor said contemplatively. 

"The analogy is sound," agreed Cas. 

"I'd vote for ya," Ellen grinned. 

"Thank you." Cas said softly. It was strange how much a little encouragement could bolster his spirits. He paused to reorganise his thoughts. "Sam." 

Sam jumped slightly, sitting up at Cas' sudden focus. "The reapers informed us that Death himself brought you here." 

"Uh, yeah," Sam confirmed. "One minute I'm falling into the Cage, the next I'm lying by the road up here, being told by the scariest person that I've ever met that Lucifer is dead and I am too." 

"I confess, this was the outcome I most hoped for," Cas admitted. "The idea that your fate would be a terrible one pained me to contemplate. But there were so many variables to consider, I didn't want to give you and your brother false hope." 

Sam offered him a sympathetic smile.

"Yeah, I get that. Things really did work out pretty well, all things considered." 

"You can say that again," Ellen knocked her shoulder gently against Sam's. "Michael trapped, Lucifer dead, Sam up here where he belongs. Almost makes up for all the crap that came before." She shook her head. "Almost." 

"It also means that Raphaels options are extremely limited," Cas mused. "Either he accepts that things have changed for good, or..." He paused, suddenly noticing that everyone human had focused on him with hawk-like intensity, and Samandriel had apparently joined in out of solidarity.

"Or...?" prompted Victor.

"Or he succeeds on regaining control of heaven and, using the full force of the Host, projects himself backwards in time to prevent Sam from succeeding in his plan to prevent the apocalypse." Cas finished grimly. Everyone stared at him in horror.

"He can do that?" Sam demanded.

"It would require phenomenal amounts of power, but yes."

"Well, you'd better keep on truckin', then," Ellen said faintly. "I don't particularly feel like havin' a do-over." 

"Neither do we," Samandriel said fervently. 

"What about Dean?" Sam asked. He seemed unduly focused on the floorboards, but his face was twisted with pain. "Does he know about this?" 

"Not yet," Cas admitted. "I haven't had the chance to return to Earth since... well. But I intend to visit him as soon as my duties allow, and I will inform him of all that has happened."

"So you don't know how he's doing." Sam surmised, rubbing a hand over his face. 

"He seemed... functional, when he prayed to me earlier." 

"He prayed to you?" 

Cas nodded, surprised that Sam seemed so skeptical. 

"He informed me that Lisa Breaden had been encouraging to reach out to people he... cared for. Bobby and myself were the only ones he mentioned, but I expect there will be others. She also has given him some literature designed to aid humans coping with grief."

"And Dean read it?" Ellen cut in incredulously. "Damn. I want to meet this woman." 

"Yeah," Sam chuckled disbelievingly "I knew she was good but... Damn."

Cas found himself smiling involuntarily at them, relieved that at least some of his news had been received well. Outside the peaceful walls of the Roadhouse heaven, he could sense his brother’s and sisters hard at work, and he knew that it was time for him to return to his post. 

" I'm sorry, but Samandriel and I should probably go," he told them regretfully. “Rachel and Hannah will be wondering where we are. /p>

"Don't sweat it, Cas, seriously," Sam said, though his face was disappointed. "You've got a hell of a lot on your plate right now. It was good just to see you." 

With a final smile, Cas stood and prepared to take flight. 

"Wait!" Said Samandriel. He coughed awkwardly. "May I come and visit you all?" He looked each human hopefully in the face. "You are very interesting."

They exchanged amused glances. 

"Sure, kid," Ellen said easily. "Swing by any time." 

Samandriel lit up. 

"Goodbye Sam." Cas said. "Ellen, Victor."

They both nodded at him. 

"I hope to see you soon." And with that, he spread his wings, and took flight. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was around midnight that the sound of the front door swinging open woke Dean out of the fitful doze he'd fallen into on the couch. Lisa was nothing more than a dark silhouette in the hallway, identifiable only by her curly hair and sweet-smelling purfume. She flicked the light on, gasping when she caught sight of Dean, sitting up and yawning, one hand going to her chest in fright and knocking the heels she must have taken off earlier against her chest. 

"Christ, you scared me," She whispered. "What are you doing downstairs?" She sounded slightly suspicious, which was more than fair, considering. 

"Uh, you have to promise not to freak out," Dean replied, holding his hands out placatingly. 

"Am I going to freak out?" She said, eyes narrowing. Crap, that was a lot more than 'slightly' suspicious. 

"No," he said hastily. "I mean, uh - I don't think so?" He glanced between her and the stairs, and she did the same, squinting at him. "Look, it's nothing bad, I promise." 

"Then tell me what it is." 

"Okay," he exhaled. "Okay, so, uh - there's this kid, his name's Jesse. He's half demon - great kid!" He added hastily, seeing Lisa's alarmed expression. "Completely normal except for these crazy powers, but he's got control over them so no worries there, uh..." He scrubbed a hand through his hair. The middle of the night was not a good time for stuff like this. "Anyway, he came by, asked if all the shit with the shit was over, and, uh, I gave him the guest room." He finished lamely.

Lisa pinched the bridge of her nose.

"I leave you alone for a few hours," She sighed, but it didn't sound angry and Dean allowed himself to relax a little. She looked up at him, strangely two-dimensional in the sleepy haze of after-midnight.

"He might've already taken off," Dean said quietly. "But he just looked... I don't know, run down. Like he hadn't had the chance to stop for a while."

Lisa shook her head wryly at him.

"You know, you don't have to take care of everyone," she said softly. Dean shifted uncomfortably.

"Yeah, I know." He said defensively. She didn't dignify him with a response.

"Okay." She fiddled with her shoes, still hanging loosely from her hands. "I'm going to get some sleep, and you should try to do the same." She eyed the rumpled mess of blankets that Dean had created tossing and turning earlier. "We'll have a talk about Jesse in the morning. When he's around to speak for himself, I think." She stepped forward to press a kiss to Dean's forehead, the same way she did every night.

"Goodnight," he murmured.

"Night," she said, turning the light off, leaving Dean in darkness once more.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

"God, why is it that I miss everything?" Jo complained to Sam once he'd finished filling her and Bill in on Cas' visit. "I thought it might stop after I died, but nope! Still out of the loop." 

"Sorry baby," Bill said sincerely. "Next time I go to the range I'll leave you behind, okay? So you don't miss anything. Ow!" He jumped away from her agressive elbow jab, laughing. Sam watched the two of them warmly. He'd never realised just how big an absence Bill had been in Jo and Ellen's lives until he got to sit and watch them light up with him around. 

Over their shoulders, he spotted Victor standing from his table, clearly preparing to leave, and he stood hurriedly, excusing himself to intercept him. 

"Victor, wait up!" He called. The former FBI agent paused, eyebrows flying up as Sam approached. 

"Sure thing. What's up, Winchester?" He pushed the door open as he spoke, gesturing Sam out ahead of him. 

"Nothin'. I, um," Sam paused, glancing up to gauge Victor's reaction. "The Rising of the Witnesses," he said finally. Understanding dawned on Victor's face. 

"Nasty shit," he said evenly.

"Yeah," Sam muttered. "Was it - were you -" He struggled to find the right words, but Henriksen took pity on him. 

"It wasn't a cakewalk, no." He said somberly. Sam nodded, skin crawling as he remembered the bone-chilling fear and regret of facing down familiar men and women who never should have died. "To be honest, I don't remember too much of it. I know I was angry. The kind of anger that wipes out everything else. That makes you desperate for something, anything to turn it on." His dark eyes were haunted. "I'm sorry that it ended up being you." 

Sam shook his head, throat thick. 

"Wasn't your fault," he croaked. Victor smiled ruefully at him. 

"I'm still sorry."

"I'm sorry we got you killed," Sam said shakily. Victor scoffed. 

"That wasn't your fault."

"I'm still sorry." Sam said with a bitter twist of irony. Victor barked a laugh. 

"Fair enough, man." He said around a surprising set of dimples. "Fair enough. Guess we'll just have to make it up to each other, won't we?" 

Sam let out a soft breath. 

"I look forward to it," he glanced over his shoulder before meeting Victor's eyes. "You know, I remember us making a pretty good team."

Henriksen's grin got wider. 

"Hell yeah. We were badass." He clapped Sam's shoulder. "See you around, Winchester." He tucked his hands in his jacket pockets and wandered off down the road, whistling to himself. Sam watched him until he vanished, then sighed and turned back to the Roadhouse where Jo was waiting to drink him under the table. 

"Everythin' alright?" Ellen asked as he stepped back through the door. 

"Yeah, yeah," he said, waving his hand dismissively. "Just clearing the air, you know." 

"Sam Winchester, get your butt over here!' Yelled Jo from where she, Pamela and Ash were holding court. "We need your Stanford education to settle a bet!" 

"Uh oh," Sam said, tension fading from his shoulders as he wove his way between tables. "What kind of bet?"


	4. Chapter 4

Morning came slowly, the way it always did for Dean these days. He jerked awake from familiar nightmares at four o’clock, and stared up at the ceiling until the sun rose before rising to prepare the promised breakfast. 

It was funny, how quickly Dean had settled into a routine of domesticity while staying in Lisa and Ben’s house, and how much he enjoyed it. Making breakfast seemed like such a mundane thing, but it stopped his hands from shaking and chased away the remnants of his bad dreams. It felt good, plating up well-made food for people he cared about and watching them enjoy it. 

He’d actually taken to watching shows on the cooking channel when Lisa was at work and Ben was at school and he didn’t feel like sitting through the cheesy soap operas that Sam used to tease him for watching. A lot of what the chefs made looked too fancy or too expensive, but some of it looked nice, simple enough, and every so often Dean found himself taking note of the name of the dish in a little notebook, with a half-baked thought that one day he could try and make one of them. 

The smell of bacon sizzling woke him up properly, along with the sharp sting of hot oil leaping from the pan onto his wrist and making him hiss loudly. It also seemed to act like a beacon, summoning the other occupants of the house downstairs in their pajamas and bedheads. 

“Mornin’,” Dean said as they shuffled in. Lisa’s nose scrunched up at him, her eyes squinted so hard they were almost shut. 

“Unless you have coffee, don’t talk to me.” She muttered at him. He grinned at her, just to wind her up, but obligingly handed the pot over. She groaned in ecstasy and poured herself a cup. Dean turned back to the stove and flipped the bacon, turning the hob with the eggs off so that they would stay warm without getting burnt. 

In his periphery, Dean spied movement and glanced over at Jesse, stood awkwardly in the doorway, already dressed but eyeing the food hungrily. 

“Just in time, Jesse. I’m about to plate up,” Dean nodded at the empty seat and grabbed the plates, setting them out on the table. Hesitantly, Jesse made his way over, offering a shy smile to Lisa and Ben as he sat. He looked better after sleeping, his eyes clearer and his shoulders lees tense, though he still wasn’t anywhere near relaxed. 

“Lisa, Ben, this is Jesse, Jesse, this is Lisa and Ben,” Dean used his spatula to point between them all as they exchanged quiet ‘hello’s’ while he doled out eggs and bacon. “Here ya go,” He passed Lisa hers first, since it was her house and kitchen he’d accidentally taken over. Ben and Jesse got theirs at the same time, and Dean grabbed his own plate and sunk into the last chair. The four of them looked downright cozy sat around the table while daylight streamed through the cheerfully yellow blinds. 

“How’d you know Dean?” Ben piped up after about three bites, clearly unable to hold back his curiosity any longer. Jesse looked surprised, eyes flicking between Ben and Dean, but Dean stayed quiet, unwilling to say anything that Jesse might not want shared with two complete strangers. 

“Um, I’m half demon?” Jesse said hesitantly. “I was meant to help the devil win the apocalypse, but Dean and Sam helped me get out of it.” He glanced around the table and started attacking his eggs with single-minded ferocity. 

Lisa’s eyebrows had risen halfway up her forehead, but Ben looked enthralled. 

“Whoa,” he breathed, eyes wide. “So do you have, like, superpowers?” 

Jesse blinked at him, then shrugged uncertainly. 

“Uh, yeah? Kind of?” 

Dean snorted. 

“No ‘kind of’ about it kid, you’re a full on powerhouse.”

Jesse glared at him. 

“So, Jesse,” Lisa cut in, kicking Dean under the table. “Did you sleep okay? I know Dean’s been fine on the spare bed, but he grew up in motels so I don’t trust his judgement.” 

Jesse offered her a timid smile. 

“It was good. I normally sneak into empty hotel rooms to sleep, so it was nice no know no one would come and try to kick me out.” He’d somehow already cleared his plate and was eyeing the leftovers. Dean wordlessly pushed the pan with the extra bacon towards him, trying to rub the bruise forming on his leg as surreptitiously as possible.

“Well, you’re welcome here anytime,” Lisa said, smiling warmly. “Just say the word.”

Jesse shifted awkwardly. 

“Um… thank you, ma’am.” He said softly. Lisa gave him a small nod, but dropped it, to his visible relief. 

“Ben, you still want that mechanics lesson?” Dean said casually. Lisa glanced up.

“Yeah!” Ben sat up straighter. “Right now?”

Dean held up his hands.

“Hey, whoa, maybe let your breakfast go down first, okay? Let me finish waking up.” 

Ben blew a raspberry.

“You wake up at like, four,” He said dismissively. 

“Well, I also have to wash the dishes, so slow your roll.” Dean leaned back, stretching out his arms. 

“Maybe go and did out some old clothes, Ben, if you’re going to be messing around with cars,” suggested Lisa. “I don’t want you complaining if I have to throw out one of your favorite shirts because you decided getting oil all over it was a good idea.” She mock-scowled at him, then laughed when he rolled his eyes. 

“Fine, Mom,” He wolfed down his last few bites of food then jumped up. “I’m gonna go change!” 

Dean winced slightly at the ruckus he made charging up the stairs. Jesse stood too, abeit much more slowly. 

“I should probably go.” He murmured. 

“Okay, kid,” Dean said, leaning forward to pick up his plate. “Stay safe out there, alright? And feel free to swing by if you end up in the same neighborhood as me, okay? Give me a little peace of mind.”

Going by Jesse’s expression, he could have asked for a purple elephant and it would have been less weird, but he just nodded awkwardly and ducked out of the door instead of protesting, so Dean counted it as a win.

Lisa stuck her head through the doorframe, then drew back into the kitchen, meeting Dean’s eyes with a stunned expression. 

“He just… vanished.” She made a little ‘poof’ motion with her hands. Dean shrugged. 

“Half demon.” He dumped the stack of dirty dishes on the counter and turned on the tap. 

“I’m surprised you let him go so easy.” Lisa said neutrally. Dean peered over his shoulder at her, her elbows leant against the counter, and shook his head. 

“Trust me, I’d’ve loved for the kid to stick around. But kids like that?” He tipped his head towards the hallway where Jesse had vanished. “They’re used to doing things on their own. They don’t want to owe anyone, and they don’t want to be controlled by anyone. If I’d tried to keep him around, I’d never see him again. Hell, I still might. But at least now he’s got a full stomach and someone to come to if he really needs it.” 

He refused to look back at Lisa, because he knew that she would be wearing that expression that made him feel flayed open and exposed, like she could see straight through to his soul. 

“He reminds you of yourself, doesn’t he?’ She asked softly. He paused in slotting the rinsed plates in the dishwasher. He risked a glance up, but he’d been right about her expression, so he glanced back down again and nodded. 

“Yeah, me, and Sammy, a little bit.” 

“God, I wish I could hug baby-you,” she laughed sadly. “All your childhood stories break my heart.”

“Thanks, Lise.” Dean said, deadpan, and she laughed again, brighter this time. 

“Alright, I’ll leave you alone. You can go and be manly and emotionally repressed with your car.”

“Might be more difficult than usual with Ben there,” Dean pointed out, and Lisa cracked up. 

“Good!” She stepped forward and gave his ear a gentle flick. He clutched it, pantomiming grave injury until she was through the doorway and out of sight. He dropped his hand and sighed deeply, bowing his head, letting his shoulders sink under the weight of the world on them. Feigning normalcy was so friggin’ exhausting. But fake-it-till-you-make-it had been Dean’s policy for years and it had gotten him this far. 

Which meant that he was going to get dressed and smile and teach a kid how to fix a goddamned car, and he would not curl up into a pathetic ball in a corner and wait for death to come and take him. He wouldn’t. Even if he tried, he had a sneaking suspicion that Lisa would appear and kick his ass back to functionality, and call Bobby to help her. 

Seriously, he planned on holding off on introducing those two. The phone call he’d had with Bobby and the conversations he’d been having with Lisa were way too similar for Dean’s comfort, though Bobby had sworn a whole lot more. 

Dean groaned as he climbed the stairs, making his way back to the guest room to get dressed, smiling to himself when he spotted Ben peeking through the crack in his door to see if he was ready yet. It was cute, how excited the kid seemed. 

“Five minutes, Ben,” He called out. “Don’t forget to wear old clothes.”

“Okay!” 

Ten minutes later and they were in the garage, leaning over the open hood of the impala, dean with practiced easy and Ben with wide-eyed excitement, balancing carefully on an upturned box so that he could see properly. 

“Okay, we’re going to start with the basics,” Dean said. “Where do you think the oil is?”

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Oh, God, I can’t do this,” Sam scraped his sweaty palms against his jeans, shoved his hair violently away from his face. 

“Yes you can,” Mary said, face long-suffering the way it had been since the third time she’d had to repeat herself. “Stop overthinking it.”

They stood on the smooth road outside the Roadhouse, right where the edges of Ash’s heaven blurred and wavered, ready to morph into someone else’s. 

“She probably hates me,” Sam said hopelessly. 

“Well, you’ll never know if you just stand here for the rest of eternity.”

“What the hell am I even going to say to her? Sorry for lying to you about my entire life, sorry that a demon murdered you to manipulate me, I love you?” He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. “She’s going to hate me –“

“Sam!” Mary snapped, finally reaching her limit. “For God’s sake, go and talk to the girl. Say you’re sorry, tell her the truth, and for crying out loud, stop making her decisions for her!”

Sam stared at her, wide eyed, and she softened. “You owe Jess a real explanation, Sam. Forget the way you feel for a few minutes and focus on her, okay? And if she hates you, then we’ll deal with it.” 

“Okay,” Sam breathed. “Okay.” He shook out his arms like he was preparing for a fight, rolled his shoulders. Glanced back at his mother. “You sure you won’t come with me?” He asked – half pleading. She gave him a look. 

“I have my own people to go and see, mister. You’re a big boy, Sammy, you can handle this. Get!” She made a shooing motion at him, and he laughed and turned back to the blurring line of the threshold between heavens.

“See you on the other side, I guess,” He told her, then took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and stepped forward. 

In his minds eye, he held every picture of Jess he could summon. The way she slept face-down, mouth open with hair everywhere. The way she used to contort herself over her books as she studied, her limbs folding into interesting knots while she concentrated. The way her smile would turn wicked when she spied Sam watching her with heat in his eyes, the way she would curse when she stubbed her toe, loud and crass, then switch to yelling at him if he laughed at her. 

He opened his eyes. The house in front of him didn’t look like anything special – it could have been any house on any street in America, except for the fact that he knew that it belonged to her. He’d been here once on Earth, one nail-biting weekend when Jess had taken him to her home to introduce him to her parents. He’d spent the whole time torn between longing and fear, wanting to be accepted by them by terrified that they would see past his paper-thin façade of normalcy to the freak underneath. 

It hadn’t happened, of course. Jess’s mother had cooed over him, and her father had shaken his hand without any of the macho posturing that dads in movies always seemed to do. They’d been kind and welcoming and utterly normal, and Sam had taken their daughter from them in a way so much worse than what they had been expecting. 

His heart in his mouth, Sam stepped up to the front door and rang the doorbell. As he waited, he let his eyes wander, catching on the porch swing with the knitted blanket, the well-pruned oak tree with the swing hanging from the branches, the bird feeder with a robin perched on it, chirping happily. It was almost obscenely idyllic, just like everything else in heaven. All the good things you remembered taken and enhanced, turned into the perfect cage. 

The door swung open, and Sam turned, his breath coming fast and shallow. Jess’ hand flew up to her mouth. 

“Sam?” She breathed. He tried to smile, but it wobbled and cracked around his sudden, helpless tears. 

“Jess,” he said helplessly.

“Oh my God!” She took a single, hesitant, step forward, then threw herself at him. He caught her easily, arms sliding back into place against the familiar shape of her body, face coming to rest on her shoulder as he lifted her up, the smell of her favorite apple-scented shampoo filling his nose. 

“Jess,” he repeated like a broken record. “Jess, Jessica.”

She laughed giddily next to his ear, her voice thick. “I can’t believe it!” She drew back and he released her, trying not to let on just how reluctant he was to let her out of his grasp. “What are you doing here?” 

Words rose up and caught it Sam’s throat as her stared at her, her wild blonde hair, her brilliant smile, her too-big t-shirt. She was here, perfect and happy to see him, against all odds. She faltered, her smile fading the longer that he stood still, staring at her with tears in his eyes. 

“Sam?” She asked, voice small. “What’s…what’s wrong?

“Um,” he swallowed around the razor-sharp lump in his throat. “Nothing, I just… I’m really happy to see you, Jess.” 

“Do you… wanna come in?” She stepped backwards, motioning towards the door, smile still hanging bravely onto her face. 

“Yeah!” He said, too eager. “Yes, uh - if you don’t mind.” He felt manic and jittery, unable to calm himself down, but he followed Jess into her house and followed her to the kitchen, where she sat down at the little table with the fruit bowl that had fascinated Sam every time he saw it. That other people genuinely have bowls of fresh fruit sat out on the side for anyone to take from had been weirdly delightful to him; likely a holdover from a childhood of carefully rationed spaghetti-os. 

“Jess?” He started quietly. 

“Yeah?” She responded. 

“Do you know where you are?”

She let out a soft huff of laughter, face twitching in confusion. “What do you mean?” She said, eyes flickering around the room. “This is my parents house, you know that.” Something a little like fear shone in her eyes, and Sam hated himself for causing it. 

“Yeah, but… how did you get here? What do you remember from before?” 

She shook her head at him, eyes fixed on his. “I… I don’t…” She stopped, looked around the room as though searching for answers as the faux calm that heaven had cast over her began to crack. “Did we drive here?” 

“No,” Sam whispered. “I only just got here, remember? The last time you saw me –“ He cut himself off, suddenly uncertain that she even had seen him from her horrific pose on the ceiling of their room. “- the last time we spoke, my brother had just come to see me, remember?”

“To ask about your dad,” Jess murmured. “Then you left, with a bunch of really lame excuses…”

“I’m sorry,” Sam stretched a hand across the table to catch her fingers, tangling them with his. “You deserved better than that. You deserved so much better,” he exhaled, shaky, vision blurring. 

“Sam,” Jess said, trying for firm, but wavering badly. Her hand gripped at his so hard it was painful. “What happened when you came home? I remember hearing you come in, but…” 

Sam heaved a breath, spare hand coming up to cover his mouth, his whole body shuddering under the weight of his grief. “You died,” he rasped out. She stared at him, stricken. “You died, Jess, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, so sorry…”

He dissolved into incoherent apologies, choking on them, trying to get all of them out at once and breaking down into sobs, years worth of regret all pouring out of him at once. Distantly, he registered a scraping noise, the sound of a chair being dragged closer, and a warm set of arms curled around him, pulling him into a familiar embrace, and he sobbed harder, hating himself for needing to be comforted when he was meant to be comforting her. 

“It’s okay,” he heard her whisper. “It’s – oh god, - it’s going to be okay.” He looked up, and she was crying too, eyes and nose running, cheeks blotchy, face blank with freshly-remembered horror, and he clutched onto her tighter, pressing a careful, shaky kiss to her hair. 

They sat there, holding onto each other for a long time. The light outside changed, fading from clear blue daylight to the dazzling array of stars and galaxies that filled heaven’s simulated sky. Sam watched it with dull eyes, feeling cracked open and raw. 

Finally, Jess pulled away, wiping at her nose with an undignified sniff. “Well, that sucked.” She said dryly through her stuffy nose, and startled a laugh out of Sam. She giggled at him, an octave too high to be normal. 

“You can say that again,” he muttered. 

“Urgh, I’m a mess,” she grimaced, running her hands through her hair, then glanced up at Sam and paused. “Wait, no, you look worse.”

He gaped at her, sputtering, and she dissolved into giggles again, wobbly with endorphins. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” She protested. “You do!” 

“You didn’t have to point it out!” Sam said, rubbing self-consciously at his face.

“Okay, that was a bit rude.” She admitted. “I’m sorry.” 

They both smiled, warm and tired at each other, until Jess looked away, out of the window, her expression turning lost. “Sam? Where are we?” She asked. He closed his eyes briefly.

“Heaven.” 

Her eyebrows pulled down and she curled her arms around herself, hunching her shoulders. “How did we get here?” 

Sam opened his mouth. Closed it. “That’s… it’s a long story.” He caught sight of her narrowing eyes. “I’ll tell you all of it, I promise,” He said hurriedly. “I’m just… trying to think of where to start.”

Jess raised her eyebrows at him. “How about the beginning?” She suggested, slightly acerbic. Sam smiled at her, hopelessly fond. 

“Alright.” He agreed. “The beginning it is.”

Four hours later and Sam’s voice was hoarse from talking, the table was littered with tissues and cups of coffee, and Jess had her head in her hands, staring down at the half-full bottle of scotch that had been full when they started talking.

“That is… a lot.” She said, unmoving. 

“Yeah.” Sam said hollowly. Jess lowered her hands. 

“Your life is… insane, Sam!”

“Trust me, I know. I was there.” 

She made a series of incomprehensible sputtering noises, hands waving erratically. “The Devil, Sam! God! You actually had God directly involved in your life! That is…”

“Not that involved,” Sam muttered, thinking uncharitably of the time they died to get a conversation with the guy and he essentially told them to get lost. Jess’ hand waving got more violent. 

“That! That right there! Jesus Sam, think about what you just said!” 

Sam thought about what he’d just said. “Yeah, okay. Sorry, Jess.” 

She buried her face in her hands, wheezing, while Sam peered at her with concern. Her head snapped up. “Oh, God,” she said blankly. “I’m the fridged love interest, aren’t I? 

Sam’s blood turned to ice – this was it. She’d gone nuts. The insanity of his life had finally managed to ruin someone else’s death, which would be impressive if it weren’t so awful. Why had he let Mary convince him this was a good idea? 

“What?” He got out.

She flapped her hand at him. “No, no, I’m totally right. You know, at the start of a movie when everything is great and they want to get the plot moving, they have to pick someone to kill off and it’s usually the hot but underdeveloped female love interest – that’s me. Jesus Christ, I died and became a cliché, that’s…” She sank down in her chair, fingers pressed into her cheeks until the skin went white from the pressure.

“Uh…” Sam tried and failed to come up with a response to that. Jess looked over at him, noticed his expression, and glared.

“Stop looking at me like that.” She snapped. “You just dropped a huge amount of information on me, and I fully intend to process it on my own terms. So you-“ She jabbed a finger into his chest, “- quit looking at me like I’m doing mental breakdowns wrong.” 

“Are you having a mental breakdown?” Sam asked. 

“I might be.” She told him, bristling. “I’m not sure yet. Give me a few minutes to decide, would you?” She jumped up from her chair and stormed out of the room, leaving Sam alone with his worry. 

After a few minutes had passed, Sam couldn’t take waiting anymore and got up to tidy the table. Snotty tissues sucked, but at least they wouldn’t start yelling at him. Hands busy, he turned over the conversation they’d had in his mind. For the most part, Jess had listened, cutting in every now and then with a question, but silent more often than not. 

The thing about dying, Sam supposed, was that it eliminated a lot of people’s skepticism, so at least the disbelief had been kept to a minimum, but all that had really done was leave more room for horror and disgust at the reality of his life. Jess had cried when he told her the details of his childhood – more so than when he’d given her the sanitized version when they were in college – had turned green when he talked about the death he’d seen and caused, had sobbed when he talked about Dean’s sacrifice for him, the hopelessness and despair of being hounded by Lucifer. 

By the time he had reached the end of the story, Jess had been almost catatonic, so drained by everything he’d already told her that she had nothing left to give. Really, her reaction had been a lot better than he’d been hoping for, he mused, as he washed out the coffee mugs. 

Footsteps in the doorway made him look up. She looked back, pale but calm, hair pulled back in a neat ponytail. 

“Okay,” she began. “Three things. One: I don’t hate you. I know you thought I might, but what the…” She stumbled over the words, “yellow eyed demon did? Not your fault. Two: I am angry. You lied to me. A lot. You didn’t ever intend to tell me the truth. I deserved better than that, Sam.” Her face was serious, her jaw set. Sam swallowed and nodded. She nodded back. 

“And three?” He dared to ask. Jess almost smiled. 

“Three? I still love you.” She finished simply. He sucked in a breath, hope flaring to life in his chest. She held up a hand. “I don’t – I need time to process.” She said. “I need to think about everything you’ve said, and I need to figure out what I want from you, what I can give you back, knowing what I know now.” She chewed her lip. “I need time, Sam. And a promise that if I ever need more answers, you will give them to me, straight away. No lies.” 

Tremulously, she smiled at him. “But, I love you. I need you to know that, because it’s true. Okay?”

“Okay,” Sam smiled back, feeling it waver at the edges as joy and sorrow warred in his chest. “And – Jess? I promise. Any answers, any explanations you need – I’ll give them to you.” 

“Good. Now,” She clapped her hands together. “Show me how to get the hell out of this place.” She cast a look around the facsimile of her old house. “I’m tired of living in memories.”

———————————————————————-

Returning to Earth felt strange. Cas had spent so much time here in the last year, searching and fighting and falling slowly into humanity that it felt odd to return fully powered and with heavenly purpose once more. Cas didn’t miss the uncertainty that had plagued his actions on the side of the Winchesters, but there had been a sort of freedom to it, to be beholden only to a few humans who would ask rather than order, who saw him as an equal. 

Heaven had always been about hierarchy, about who was in charge of who. It was always ‘your superior will hear about this’ or ‘your subordinate did that’ and though Cas was doing his best to reduce the rigidity of that system among the angels who had chosen to follow him, it was a system that had been hammered into the grace of every angel since time immemorial, and would likely never truly fade away.

Stood on the green grass of the Braeden’s front lawn, Cas took a moment to breathe, to let the weight of command drop from his shoulders, if only for a while. He knew that he couldn’t stay long, that only the fact that he had important news justified his coming at all, but he couldn’t help but revel in the illusion of freedom. 

Beyond the limits of human perception, Cas entered the house, searching through the rooms until he found Dean, laid out on a double bed, sleeping fitfully. It was late, and the other occupants of the house were deeply unconscious, but Dean shifted and grunted in his sleep, clearly plagued by nightmares. 

Dreams were strange, nebulous things, prone to morphing and fracturing in the space of a heartbeat. In order to communicate inside them, it was necessary to take control of them and give them a firmer structure, a solid shape in which to stand. 

Dean’s subconscious was no different, though Cas knew it far more intimately than he did most humans. It was darker than he remembered though, more tumultuous, full of things with sharp teeth and sharp words, strengthened by Dean’s memories and fed by his emotions.

Cas stretched out his grace, grasping at the monsters that lurked in the shadowed corners of Dean’s mind and banishing them, recalling instead a peaceful lake, a narrow wooden dock and a sky lit up in a spectacular sunset of pink and orange and gold. It was peaceful and lovely, and Cas was glad that he could provide it for Dean, even if it was just for a little while. 

“Cas? That you?” Dean asked cautiously. 

“Hello Dean,” Cas responded. “I received your prayer. I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner.”

Dean’s eyes roved over his face, as though searching for something. Whatever is was, it seemed that he found it, and his shoulders dropped from their defensive tension into something more neutral. 

Cas found himself inspecting Dean, cataloging his every movement and expression, the microscopic changes of his body and face since the last time they had spoken. On the surface, he seemed much the same, but underneath the usual masks of bravado and indifference, Dean carried a kind of brittleness – a soul deep weariness that showed in the hollows of his eyes, in the slump of his shoulders, in the creases around his mouth. 

He looked - heavy was the only way Cas could think to describe it – like the weight of all his pain had seeped into his bones and become tangible, bearing him down towards the earth. 

“Don’t sweat it, dude. Its good to see you.” He cast his eyes out over the lake, squinting in the sunlight as it threw his freckles into sharp relief. “Am I dreaming?”

“Yes,” Cas said. “It seemed prudent to allow you to sleep.”

“That your way of tellin’ me I look like crap?” Dean said sardonically. “Gee, thanks Cas.”

“That wasn’t…” 

Dean waved a dismissive hand. 

“Chill dude, you’re right. Sleep and me haven’t been having a good time lately. Who knows, I might feel less dead tomorrow.”

“I will ensure that your dreams remain pleasant once I leave,” Cas promised. Dean sent him and indecipherable look but didn’t say anything. “I have news.”

Something dark crept into Dean’s expression. “This isn’t a social visit, then.” He reached into the cooler sat next to the fishing rod and pulled out a beer, popping the cap off with practiced ease. 

“I wish it were,” Cas said, unsure why the almost imperceptible hurt in Dean’s voice disturbed him so much. “I would endeavour to see you even if I had no practical reason to. That I do merely provides… a good excuse.”

“Stop it, you’ll make me blush,” Dean muttered, but he looked happier. “What’s shaking, then Cas?”

Cas tilted his head at the idiom, still unconvinced that it made any logical sense, but glad that he at least recognized it. “Lucifer is dead.” He said bluntly. 

Dean froze, bottle halfway to his mouth. His head snapped towards Cas, his brows angled downwards in a way that looked angry, but on Dean meant that he wanted to hide whatever it was that he was truly feeling. 

“Sam?” He asked, voice guarded. 

“In heaven.” Cas told him, allowing the relief he felt to seep into his voice. “I spoke to him earlier, in Ash’s Roadhouse.” He watched as Dean cycled through a thousand different emotions, the sheer force of them warping the fabric of the dream, whipping wind over the surface of the water, the sun winking out behind a sudden surge of grey clouds. He gentled his voice. “He’s alright, Dean.”

The bottle slipped from Dean’s hand, disintegrating before it could hit the ground, and he lifted both hands to scrub down his face, spun on his heel as if to storm off only to turn back after five paces, grabbed at his hair like he needed something to ground himself on. 

“He’s still dead.” It sounded like a challenge, the way he said it, like a dare. He stared fiercely at Cas, eyes wild, like he was waiting for something. Under their feet, the dock creaked and groaned.

“Yes.” Cas said calmly. “He’s still dead.” 

Dean exhaled, hands clenching into fists, shoulders rising. He wanted to punch something, that much was clear, was aching for some kind of violence to exorcise his turmoil on. 

“So he isn’t alright,” Dean snarled, low and furious. “Not even fucking close, Cas. He’s still gone.” 

Cas said nothing. There was nothing he could say. Instead, he waited patiently, for Dean to sort through his turmoil on his own, to see the answers that he would refuse coming from anyone else. Pain, Cas had learned, made humans irrational. Made angels irrational, too, he thought, recalling every brother and sister he had seen descend into revenge and despair in the absence of their Father. 

“What, the angels are all out of resurrection juice? You couldn’t bring Sam with you when you came down here for a little chat? Did you expect me to be fucking grateful?” Deans voice got louder, his steps faster as he paced murderously. Darkness crept in around them until all they could see was each other. 

“I thought,” Cas said quietly, “that you would want to know.” He met Dean’s infuriated gaze, carefully keeping his own face blank, until Dean scoffed at him and stepped back, the strength of his rage fading. 

“I’d rather have him alive.”

“I don’t have power over that.” 

Dean scoffed again, louder, his mouth opening with the clear intention to argue. 

“I don’t.” Cas repeated. “Death has reinstated control over the souls within heaven, with extreme prejudice against resurrection. He interferes in nothing else, but there is not a single being in creation powerful enough to cross him.” He paused, allowing humor to creep into his voice. “Not even you, Dean.” 

Dean sneered and resumed pacing.

“Oh yeah, where was he during the apocalypse? Or before, even, when your bosses first decided to play Frankenstein with me?” 

“Turning a blind eye due to prior arrangement, and then shackled to Lucifer,” Cas replied dryly. The dream was reforming around them, colour and shape returning. He reached out and caught Dean’s arm, halting him. “I am sorry that I cannot reunite Sam with you. But I am glad that he is safe, and among friends.”

Dean clenched his jaw, the muscles in his cheek jumping. He didn’t say anything. Cas released his hold on Dean’s arm, but he didn’t move away either. 

“Is Mom there?” He finally asked, eyes fixed on some distant point, his voice and face deliberately disaffected. 

“And Ellen and Jo,” Cas confirmed. “William Harvelle, Victor Henriksen, Pamela Barnes. Many others. Your father is in heaven, but I understand that he is currently banished from any place that your mother is currently inhabiting.”

A choked off noise escaped Dean’s throat, and Cas stopped, concern spiking. Dean let out a low, shaky breath, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. He sniffed. 

“Shit,” he said at last. “I bet she kicked Dad’s ass.” His mouth pulled up at the corners in an uncertain smile, his eyes shining with tears. “You know, Sam never really got to meet her? Not as our mom. I bet they’re catching up.” 

“They seemed to be getting along,” Cas agreed tentatively, sparking another wet laugh from Dean.

“Fuck.” He said emphatically, wiping at his eyes. He glanced over at Cas then away again. “This probably ain’t what you signed up for, coming down here, huh? Me losing my shit all over the place?”

Cas frowned, shrugging slightly. “I knew that you were likely to have a strong reaction. You and your brother have always had powerful emotional responses when receiving news about the other.”

“Gee, Cas, why don’t you just call me a giant sissy and be done with it?” 

“Is Agiantsissy a name?” Cas asked. “That seems cruel on the parents part,” Dean’s head flew up and he gaped at Cas incredulously, his distress momentarily forgotten. Cas felt a little proud. 

“Was that a joke?” Dean eventually sputtered. Cas shrugged slightly, trying not to smile. Dean worked his mouth for a few moments before letting out a sputtering laugh. 

“A for effort buddy,” He said, and Cas tried not to preen, glad that he’d at least given Dean something to smile about. 

“Are you going to be alright?” He asked. Dean sighed, but he was still smiling, just a bit. 

“Probably not,” He said. “But then, when am I ever?” He nudged Cas with his elbow. “What about you? You going to be okay? Heaven treatin’ you alright?” 

Cas smiled ruefully. “Heaven is… tense at the moment. But currently it’s nothing I can’t handle.” He looked Dean in the eye. “I appreciate your offer of help, Dean. If I ever do need it…” He let himself trail off. Dean nodded, cleared his throat. 

“Glad to hear it.” 

Cas returned his nod. “Is there anything you wish for me to pass onto Sam?”

“Tell him…” Dean paused, licked his lips. “Tell him I’m proud of him.” He settled on. 

“I will.” Cas promised. “Goodbye, Dean.”

“Bye Cas,” Dean said. “Don’t let the god squad bring you down, alright?” 

Cas grinned. “I won’t.” He looked at Dean one last time, committing him to memory, and let the dream dissolve.


End file.
